


It's just a couple of dishes

by iantosgal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, I guess he's a minor character, M/M, Minor Character Death, he'll always be a major character to me, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iantosgal/pseuds/iantosgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles are fighting about stupid, mundane, married people stuff which is spiralling into a full on argument when Stiles gets a phone call that makes their fight look even stupider than it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just a couple of dishes

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy fic. If you want to know why, check the notes at the bottom. 
> 
> I have no idea where this came from but I hope you enjoy it.

“I don't understand why we're fighting about this. It's just a couple of dishes.”

“Well, if _you_ did the dishes all the God damn time maybe you'd be a bit pissed off about it too.”

“Hey, I do the dishes.”

“Yeah, if I ask you to.”

“Are you trying to say I don't pull my weight around here? Because I pull my fucking weight, Derek. I do a lot around the house.”

Derek rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. This was quickly escalating from a washing up disagreement to a full on fight.

“That's not what I'm saying. I just hate it when you leave shit lying about. It would take a couple of minutes tops to clean those plates and put them away.”

“So, what? I'm lazy now?” Stiles demanded, arms crossed over his chest and face angry. 

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“Is this even about plates, Derek?”

“Yes! All I asked is if you could wash a couple of fucking plates.”

Stiles phone rang whilst they were staring each other out. Stiles ignored it and the constant ring riled Derek up even more. 

“Are you gonna answer that?”

“No. I can't. Because we're fighting over fucking dishes like an old couple that hate each other and are only staying together because they think they'll die sad and alone if they leave,” Stiles spat, rejecting the call and throwing the phone down on the couch.

“Right. So, just so I'm clear, I ask you to wash a couple of plates and now we're heading for divorce?”

“Who said anything about divorce?”

“Well, that little speech kind of made it sound like you wish we weren't together,” Derek said. 

Stiles phone rang on the couch and both their eyes snapped to the offending object. Derek snatched the phone up. 

“It's your dad,” he said, holding the phone out.

“Yeah, I'm aware thanks,” Stiles said, bitingly, rejecting the call again and holding the phone in a fisted hand. It began to ring again almost immediately. Stiles snarled as he answered the phone. “Dad, what!?” Derek watched as Stiles face slipped from angry annoyance to confusion. “Melissa? Yeah, sorry I was...it doesn't matter. What's up?” Stiles seemed to stiffen and then shrink before Derek's eyes. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped and he turned away from Derek, one hand coming up to rub across his forehead in agitation. Derek took a step closer and then hesitated. “How bad?” Derek shook himself and reached out to place a soothing hand in between Stiles' shoulder blades. “I'm on my way.” Stiles hung up the phone and let his hand drop to his side as he let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a whimper. 

“Stiles?” Derek prompted, softly. 

“My dad...he's been in a car accident. It's bad, Derek. It's really, really bad,” Stiles said, sounding as if he was forcing the words past something lodged in his throat. 

Derek gathered his husband against his chest without a word and held him close, as Stiles clung to him with trembling hands. He allowed the hug for a few moments before he pushed himself gently away. Derek grabbed his hand as they left the house, quickly steering Stiles away from the Jeep that he still insisted on driving and towards Derek's own car. 

* * * * * * * *

Stiles didn't say a word on the drive to the hospital. He sat silently in the passenger seat, knee bouncing up and down in a nervous twitch, whilst he chewed the skin of his dry lips. Derek reached out with one hand and gently squeezed Stiles' bouncing knee, feeling something shift inside him when it immediately went still and Stiles' hand quickly wrapped around his, linking their fingers together and gripping it tight. 

When they reached the hospital, they half ran to the desk only to be stopped by Melissa who was waiting for them. 

“Where is he? Is he gonna be ok? What happened?” Stiles asked, words tripping over themselves as they followed Melissa through the winding corridors of the hospital. 

“Stiles, I need you to stay calm, ok? You freaking out isn't going to help the situation.”

“Well, how am I supposed to react? You said it was bad, Melissa.”

“And it is,” she sighed, stopping and turning to the young man who was like a second son to her. “I don't know the full report on what happened, but from what I gather, someone ran a red light.”

“Where is John now?” Derek asked, sensing the tension that was building up in Stiles, threatening to release itself in a full blown panic attack if he didn't get some answers. 

“He's in surgery.” Stiles crumpled into the nearest chair, head falling heavily into his hands. “I wish I could tell you everything is going to be ok,” Melissa said softly. “But I've been asked to tell you to...to prepare for the worst.” Derek looked at her sharply and she gazed back with sad, watery eyes. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, reaching out to rest a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Derek sat beside Stiles and they lapsed into silence. They'd been sitting there for almost an hour when Derek heard hurried footsteps and smelt the unmistakable scent of his Alpha. He looked up just as Scott rounded the corner and stopped short.

“Stiles?” he said, voice thick with worry. 

Stiles looked up and gave Scott a tight, sad smile before looking back down at his own hands. Scott sat on Stiles' other side without another word and joined their silent vigil. He lasted about half an hour before he went to get everyone coffee. He handed Derek his and then held one out to Stiles who didn't so much as look up from the floor. After a moments hesitation, Scott placed it on the small table at the end of the row of chairs and then gripped his best friends shoulder. 

The silence resumed and Derek couldn't think of a thing to say or do. He was never great with his words as it was but normally he was different with Stiles. Normally he could make his husband smile, he could make him laugh. Stiles knew how to push his buttons, how to make Derek open up in a way no one else had ever been able to achieve but now Stiles was like a stone statue. He hadn't moved in the two hours they'd been sat there, hadn't spoken since Melissa told him to prepare for the worst, hadn't so much as looked up since Scott first arrived and all Derek could do was rest his hand on Stiles' wrist, try to give Stiles some sort of comfort with that touch alone because his words had failed him, yet again. Without Stiles' voice to ease the way, Derek couldn't think of a thing to say. Without Stiles' warm, amber gaze focused on his eyes he didn't know what to do or how to be. How had he not realised how much he had come to depend on Stiles just to simply be human? More importantly, why was he so emotionally fucked up that he couldn't console his husband when his father could be dying?

Derek downed the rest of his lukewarm coffee, grabbed the still full cup from the end table and mumbled something about getting a refill. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw the last dregs of coffee down the sink before chucking the cups in the trash. He turned to leave but caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like crap, hair sticking up all ways from where he'd been running his hands through it because he didn't know what else to do with them, eyes filled with fear and worry because he didn't know how to help Stiles when he was hurting so much and lips red from where he'd been chewing on them because he couldn't think of a damn thing to say. 

A tear slipped down his cheek and he brushed it angrily aside before leaning over the sink and letting his head hang. What was he doing? This was Stiles and he was hurting so why was Derek second guessing everything? Why wasn't he out there holding Stiles' hand and reassuring him?

 _Because you were fighting_ a quiet voice in his head supplied and Derek let out a humourless chuckle. Was that it? Was he really being that stupid? It was a silly little fight about dishes, it meant nothing. So why was he letting it affect him like this? 

_“Right. So, just so I'm clear, I ask you to wash a couple of plates and now we're heading for divorce?”_

_“Who said anything about divorce?”_

_“Well, that little speech kind of made it sound like you wish we weren't together.”_

Derek gave himself a little shake and looked up into the mirror. 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he whispered to his reflection. “He doesn't want to divorce you over some fucking plates. Get out there and be the husband he deserves.”

With another shake and a deep sigh he headed back to the waiting area. Scott looked up at his as he approached and gave him a small smile but Stiles' eyes remained glued to the floor as if it held all the answers to all the questions of the universe. Derek stopped in front of Stiles and crouched down, reaching out and taking Stiles' face in his hands and tilting it up so that finally, Stiles was looking at him, the amber of his eyes muddied with the wetness of threatening tears. 

“Baby, I'm sorry,” Derek said softly, dimly aware that Scott was vacating his chair and heading off down the corridor. “I'm sorry about the stupid fight and I'm sorry about your dad and I'm sorry that for the last two hours I've just been sitting there when I should have realised you needed me and...”

“Derek, no, it's ok,” Stiles said, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Derek's. “It's ok.”

“No. I...I was being an idiot. But I've had a word with myself and I'm here now. For a minute, I forgot how to be your Derek but I remember now,” he said, leaning in and placing a tender kiss to Stiles' lips.

Derek sat back in his seat and pulled Stiles to him so that Stiles' head was resting on his chest. He pressed a kiss into the younger man's hair and rubbed his hand soothingly up and down his back. 

* * * * * * * * *

It had been hours. Hours and hours of sitting helplessly in the same corridor. Scott had brought more drinks that didn't get drunk and he'd grabbed some chips that still remained unopened on the side table. 

Stiles had gotten up from his seat about twenty minutes ago and was now pacing back and forth along the corridor that had pretty much taken up residence in. Scott kept telling them about text's he'd received from the pack asking after them and sending their love. Lydia had offered to come to the hospital but Stiles had simply shook his head. Allison and Isaac had asked if they needed anything from home but Derek had said no, even though in all honesty he could think of a couple of things like a hoodie or something for Stiles because he looked cold in just his t-shirt or Derek's phone which he'd left on the side in the rush to get here. But what did he need his phone for? Everyone he cared about was already here or in touch through Scott...or lying on a bed somewhere in the hospital in God knows what state. 

He was about to mention the hoodie when the door at the end of the hallway opened and Melissa came through. Derek took one look at her face and he just knew.

If the way Stiles gasped _No_ and crumpled against the wall was any indication, he knew too. 

Derek was on his feet in seconds, winding his arms around Stiles' waist and holding him upright. 

“I'm sorry,” Melissa said, reaching out to brush the hair away from Stiles' face. “Oh, Stiles. I'm so sorry.”

Stiles didn't cry, he just clung to Derek's arm like it was the only thing keeping him from falling and closed his eyes.

“Can I see him?”he asked, brokenly.

“Sweetheart, you don't want to see him. Not right now. Not...”

Stiles nodded his head without letting Melissa finish. They all knew what she was trying to say. 

_You don't want to see your father as he is now. You don't want to see the all bruises and the cuts._

_Remember him the way he was._

* * * * * * * * * *

They pulled up outside the house and Derek looked over. Stiles was again silent and it was so unnatural, so unnerving, that Derek was scared to let him out of his sight. He got out of the car and, after a moment where nothing happened, he went round to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.

“Stiles? We're home, baby, come on,” he said, reaching across Stiles to unfasten his seat belt. He took his arm and gently, led him out of the car. For a second Stiles looked confused and then he seemed to realise where they were and headed towards the front door with Derek right behind him. 

Derek watched as Stiles made his way into the kitchen and flicked on the light. He closed and locked the front door and then stopped, listening to the quiet clattering coming from the kitchen. With a sad sigh, he followed his husbands footsteps and stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. 

Stiles had filled the sink with water and was now washing the dirty plates. His motions where mechanical and automatic as he placed the now clean plate on the draining board. 

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek asked.

“I'm doing the dishes,” Stiles replied, his voice so quiet Derek almost didn't hear it even with his werewolf hearing. 

“You don't need to do that right now.”

“I just want to get them out of the way.”

“Stiles...they're just dishes. They can wait,” Derek said, softly. Stiles grabbed a cloth and began to dry the plates.“Stiles? Leave it, ok? It's just dishes. They don't matter.” 

Stiles let out a broken sound and gripped the edge of the counter, bowing his head between his hunched shoulders as he finally let himself cry. 

Derek pushed away from the door jamb and crossed the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and held him as he sobbed. 

“I'm sorry,” Derek whispered into the back of Stiles' neck, apologizing for everything in those two little words. John's death, the stupid fight, the way he had almost failed Stiles at the hospital by forgetting how to be the man Stiles had helped him to become. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's ok,” Stiles whimpered, even though it wasn't ok. Even though it wouldn't be ok for a long time. 

“I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles turned in Derek's arms and buried his head in Derek's throat. 

“Love you too, softywolf,” Stiles said through his tears and Derek clung to him tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sheriff dies in this. I love the Sheriff so why have I done this? Well, obviously I like to punish both myself and Stiles. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! Say hello, leave me a prompt, ask me a question...whatever you want, go crazy!
> 
> http://we-are-our-secrets.tumblr.com/


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